There were all kinds of strange things at Camp Wannamorra that I didn’t even begin to understand—like math, girls, Snake Hill, mystery meat, and Norman. But the thing I was the most curious about by now was Legend. This kid was way stranger than anyone I’d ever known. Or at least, he might have been if I actually knew him. Which I didn’t. Because he was so strange.

You see what I’m talking about? No? Maybe a little? Stay with me here, okay?

That night, when Legend left the cabin to go to the latrine (or to go hunt wild wolves with his teeth, for all I knew), I started asking around.

“Hey, Smurf,” I said. “What’s Legend’s deal, anyway?”

“His deal?” Smurf said. “His deal?”

“Yeah. Why is everyone so afraid of him? And where did he get that name, anyway?”

Dweebs leaned down off his bunk. “You’ve been here more than two weeks. How do you not know this stuff by now?”

I just shrugged. I’m pretty used to not knowing stuff. Besides, I wasn’t going to admit I’d been kind of scared to ask. You never knew when Legend might be listening in.

“Hey, Cav, check the door,” Smurf whispered. “And hit the lights too.”

Everyone gathered around on the bottom bunks, except for Norman. His flashlight came on the second the cabin lights went out, and he just kept reading.

Smurf turned on his flashlight too. He held it up under his chin, which was funny and creepy at the same time. I like Smurf a lot. Actually, I like all the guys. Even—up to a point—Legend.

“This,” he said, “is the legend… of Legend. Listen at your own risk. I’m not kidding.”

I laughed when he said that, but I was the only one who did. So I shut up and listened while Smurf started the story.

“They say he was born on Friday the thirteenth. This particular Friday the thirteenth was right in the middle of the biggest electrical storm in a hundred years and a solar eclipse,” Smurf said in a creepy whisper. “Right away at the hospital, they knew Legend was different—and not in a good way. The first thing he ever did in his life was give the stink-eye to the doctor who delivered him.

“Nobody knows his real name for sure,” Smurf said.

“I heard it was Klaus von Munster,” Tunz said. “Hey, I’m just sayin’ what I heard.”

“It’s Walter,” Bombardier said, “but anyone who’s ever called him that is dead, so there’s no way to prove it.”

“It’s very possible he never got a name at all,” Smurf told us. “Supposedly, his parents were too scared to choose the wrong one. So he just named himself as soon as he could talk.”

“The early years are a little hazy,” Smurf went on. “Some people say he went to live with grizzly bears in the Rockies. Some say he went out for chocolate milk when he was five and didn’t come back until he was eight.

“What we know for certain is that he spent most of third and fourth grades in the state penitentiary. State records show that Legend was the youngest kid to ever be locked up in that place. But nobody really knows what he got locked up for.”

“Maybe he robbed a bank,” Cav said.

“Maybe he killed someone,” Dweebs said.

“Whatever it was, his time in prison only made him smarter, scarier, and more dangerous,” Smurf said. “By the time he got out and started coming here to Camp Wannamorra, Legend knew he had two choices. One—play by the rules. Or two—don’t get caught. You can probably guess which way he went.”

“And to this day, he’s never been caught for anything again,” Bombardier said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Every summer there’s at least one giant bad thing that happens at camp,” Dweebs said. “Something that nobody gets busted for—”

“Even though everybody knows who did it,” Cav said. “You know what I’m sayin’?”

“Not really,” I said.

“A few years ago, there was this counselor who ate some of Legend’s trail mix without asking,” Tunz said. “That night, the guy got a whole bottle of Ex-Lax in his dinner. He went into the latrine a few hours later and didn’t come out until the end of the summer.”

“Then there was the time somebody put a cow in the infirmary—” Smurf continued.

“He made a cow sick?” I said. “What’d the cow do to him?”

“No!” Smurf said. “It was the nurse he was mad at. She made him sit out of a kickball game when he had a head cold. So that very night, he walked the cow right in there, closed the door, and left.”

“Hang on a second,” I said. “You guys don’t really believe all this stuff, do you?”

Smurf shined his flashlight right in my eyes! “The point isn’t whether it’s true or not. The point is—do you really want to find out?”

I hadn’t thought about it that way.

“No,” Smurf said. “You don’t. Otherwise, you’ll end up like… Petey Schwartz.”

“Who?”

Everyone was already quiet, but now they all got even quieter. Smurf started whispering again.

“Petey Schwartz was the only kid who ever told on Legend. We don’t know what he tried to bust him for, but it obviously didn’t work. Two days later, Petey went on a nature hike and ‘accidentally’ fell off a cliff—”

“I wouldn’t say he fell, exactly,” Bombardier said.

“Either way,” Smurf said. “He landed in the hospital with a broken leg and never came back to camp. Not even to get his stuff.”

“And Legend was the one who pushed him?” I asked.

“Yes… no… and maybe,” Smurf said.

There were still a bunch of important questions I wanted to ask, but just then we heard footsteps outside. A second later, Legend came strolling back into the cabin.

“So, ummmm… that’s how you tie a double knot,” Smurf said.

“Ohhh,” Tunz said.

“Got it,” Cav said.

“Thanks, Smurf,” Dweebs said. “Good to know.”

Cav turned on the lights, and we all went back to whatever we were doing before.

Because even though Legend was one of us, and probably our best weapon against the Bobcats, he was also… Legend. And you could never be too careful around him.

Just ask Petey Schwartz.